


Oathmakers

by Jarakrisafis



Series: Oath and Covenant [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1: Oath and Covenant.</p><p>Or: Medics and how they spend their time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ratchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Young Ratchet sets his course

"You most certainly will not." The base glyphs are curt, none of the usual embellishment that my creator usually uses present as he stares down at me. "You will join our business and stop this foolish nonsense." The black and green mech doesn't bother to wait for an answer as he turns and strides away, cleaning drones and one unlucky servent only just skittering out of the way in time.

"I most certainly will." I reply to the empty hall since it's not like my creator stuck around to let me say anything else. Black fists clench as I growl, my powerplant rumbling with my anger. It is _so_ unfair! I don't want to join the family business. It's so boring.

Energon supply and demand. Wow. Fascinating.

Not.

My creators only want me to join the household business so that they have another worker they can use to increase their profits and work their way up from the lower Towers up into the tallest of the Crystal Towers as one of the high Nobility.

Problem is, I don't want to join their business. Couldn't care less about energon production and how many credits we can make out of mechs who were only trying to survive. I'd be more likely to end up giving it away than selling it for any type of profit.

I stalk back into my room, stuffing things into subspace pockets until they are full.

"Finally leaving are you?" I freeze, sure that I am caught until the exact wording settles in my processor and I give the mech a surprised look, he grins, a small quirk of his faceplating. "Good luck to you, young master." The servant continues and now I know that I must be gaping at him. "Oh, don't give me that look, we've raised you. You think we wouldn't notice how miserable you are here."

I can't do much but continue to stare at the mech as he reaches out to pull me into an embrace. They haven't done that since I was in a much smaller frame. It's 'unbecoming of a mech of my rank and stature to engage in such a display of emotions'. I don't care as I wrap my arms around his frame.

They can't stop me leaving. I've finished my last upgrade and am in my final frame. I have every right to walk out of here. It's just... daunting. I know if I leave that will be it. I'll be on my own. Still, I've been saving up, and I know I have more to my name than most mechs do, even those that have been working. Even as a youngling my creators could afford to give me a generous stipend and I've never been one to spend it all on things I don't need.

"Thank you." I finally mutter into the servants neck plating before pulling away, giving him a brief smile, all I can manage as I look around my room, well, rooms one last time. I leave before my doubts grow any more. I take the back corridors to avoid my creators, although I pass many of our servants in the dimly lit passageways, each one wishing me well before hurrying on until I am stood at the back entrance to my home. Or what has been my home.

I glance up at the glittering spire, not nearly as tall or as extravagant as those further in, we're on the edge of the crystal towers here. I'm going to miss it. But there's more to life than simply wanting more credits, more wealth and social standing amongst others who want the same thing and would stab you in the back if it would help to get them there.

I change form, the novelty of the transformation still not worn off in the short time since my transformation cog was installed and integrated. I let my engine rev before heading out towards Iacon. I almost turn back as I pass the gate. The large crystal sculpture being the entrance to the Towers district. Inside there is only the great Towers, all the building is upwards, glittering spires that each seek to outdo the others. Outside the Towers it is not so... civilised. I choose my path, the skyway I am on giving me a strange sensation of flying as the ground drops away below it. The lower levels of Iacon, somewhere I should never go. Or so I was always told. We belong on the higher levels.

We and them. First and second class citizens. Those that exploit and those that are exploited. I've been down to the lower levels. Once. I shouldn't have, but well, younglings are always curious. The not fully upgraded processor and memory always seeking answers, always wanting to know the 'why?' in everything. Looking back, I was lucky I didn't get far from the service lift and that my servant found me before anything untoward happened.

 

I flash my indicators, turning off at the next intersection, glad that it is still midcycle and there is little traffic about. I don't like the crowds, when the shifts end and the skyways tail back with impatient mechs trying to get home. So many different alt modes all vying for a space in the lanes. No, much better like this, when there is no worry about being pushed off the road by impatient haulers who use their size to muscle in on whatever lane they want.

Another turn and I am nearly at my destination. I almost turn back, almost, except the walls of the Skylane flash white and red, lights set into the walls blinking on and off in a hypnotic pattern and I pull in to one side as two mechs race past, a bulky transport and a lighter built emergency reponse vehicle, their own lights flashing on their alt modes as if to taunt me. It works as I turn towards my goal, fleeting thoughts of heading home gone. That's what I want to become.

That's what I _will_ become.

I slow as I approach the entrance to the Iacon Medical Centre. Despite its name sounding like a small outpost, it is the largest medical facility on Cybertron, it's various buildings spread over many levels. I pull up and transform, hoping I've followed the directions correctly. It said general enquiries this way, and I definitely wasn't heading for the accident and emergency ward, nor am I a registered medtransport. So this has to be the right place.

Still, it feels strangely awkward as I enter the building, everything seems so, so white. Clean. But not that well kept home type clean, but the polished to within an inch of scraping the paint off the walls type clean. Even now there's a cleaning drone mindlessly scrubbing at spotless walls. The mech behind the desk glances up as I approach.

"Uhhhhm. I ah." The mech tilts his helm slightly, although he doesn't say anything about my undignified start. "I want to become a medic." I finally say in a rush.

This time the helm tilt is a little more noticeable as he gives me a second glance, optics catching on the sigil of my house. He probably doesn't know what it stands for exactly, but it's an obvious sign that I'm from one of the Tower levels. He nods and waves me towards the seating to one side. "I'll pass it on."

I let my frame sink in to one of the chairs, feeling the foam mesh squashing underneath me to conform as best it can to my frame. Not quite as good as having a good seat made to match a frame. But clearly that is not an option for a place that must have hundreds of frame variations pass through each day.

It seems an age before a mech appears and heads in my direction, so many of the mechs that have come in after me have already been called, and the few that were already seated when I arrived have all gone.

"You the one wanting to get into the Academy?" I nod, pushing myself to my feet in front of the pristine white and red frame. Purple optics look me over before he nods, although I have no idea what he's looking for. "Your designation?"

I raise my helm slightly, I have been taught to always be proud of who I am. "Ratchet."


	2. Ratchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet at the Academy

I still can't believe I've been accepted, although some of that might have been the not so anonymous donation from my creator alongside the rather blunt message that I don't think I was meant to see. I wasn't planning to go back anyway, so, it's not that much of a problem to me.

I suppose I should have got used to this by now, I mean, I moved in well before the next teaching session starts since I have nowhere else to go and it's been kind of quiet around here. Not much to do except revel in my acceptance letter. Except this cycle is apparently when the rest of the students should be arriving and I'm quite looking forward to it. There's only so much peace and quiet I can take.

In fact, I move to my window, which has the good fortune to overlook the main courtyard, as I hear voices. Looks like my exile is ending. Especially with how they are spinning around and pointing things out to each other. I clatter down the stairs and poke my helm out the door. It draws their attention and they look relieved as they spot me, heading in my direction.

"Hello, we have no idea where to go, you're an older student right?"

I shake my helm, "New actually, I've been here a few cycles though so I can get you to the main registration office."

"Oh, well, I'm Mixmaster, this is Wheeljack and Lightweld. We're all on the engineering course."

"Ratchet, medical, if you hadn't guessed." I can't help gesturing at my new paint, the pale grey and light red of a trainee medic still appearing strange compared to my once black and dark green paint job. Well, I had been here long enough that I thought I might as well get some of the things done before everybody else arrived and I had to queue for ages. Probably why they thought I was an older student.

"Neat. I'm chemical engineering." The green mech says with a grin as we start walking in the right direction. "Weld is taking mechanical and Jack is on the theoretical engineering course."

"Boom." Wheeljack deadpans and I can't help stepping closer, intrigued by the flashing lights on his helm. He doesn't seem to mind as I peer at one, and they seem to be flashing in time with his chuckling as his optics cross as he tries to focus on me. "I'm an orbital frame, they're used for communicating when there's comm interference."

"You've been in space?" That sounds like so much fun. Highest I've been is the Tower tops and that's not exactly breaking atmosphere.

"Sure have."

"Lucky slagger." Mixmaster mutters, "I want to go out on a planetary expedition, some planets have weird substances. Slag, there's even a few out there that are all dihydro-oxygen. Can you imagine an entire planet that causes rust?"

I shudder, not too sure I'd want to go anywhere like that. Admittedly Cybertronium doesn't rust, but some of the smaller components used in our joints and stuff are made of lesser metal and they would rust.

"Here we are." I say as we reach the reception and the end of the line winding into it to get rooms "I'll see you around.".

They wave cheerily as they join the line and I head into the next room. I've had cycles to go through the course options and I'm ready to sign up to become a surgeon.

My electronic signature on the pad is all it takes once I've filled everything in and it takes a long while to sink in that I've just completed the last thing I had outstanding.

The only thing left now is classes


	3. Glit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glit is apprenticed

Slaggers. The lot of 'em. Thinkin' they could skim a bit off my energon and I wouldn't notice. Yeah, well, I had. And called 'em on it. They ain't been too happy 'bout that, but I'd slipped away when the rest of their customers started measurin' their cubes and then the blades'd come out. I wasn't gonna stick around and be a target. Perhaps it'd be worth going back to look for good stuff once the night cycle came round.

Then again, if any of 'em survived that mob, I don't want to head back too soon, better to let the other scavengers have what they can this time. Not like I need to take that risk right now. Not with the amount of cubes I swept into my subspace while they were brawlin'. Even skimmed cubes are good cubes in these parts.

"That was rather risky." I jump, pressing back against the nearest wall as I scan the shadows, optics searching for the owner of the voice. I needed to be ready to run. Mechs get killed for less than the week's rations I'm carrying in my subspace. I pick out the purple band of light from between two buildings, some kind of visor that I am glad to see is only sittin' a little higher than my height. "You've got good optics to notice something like that." The voice continues, the vocals soft and smooth. Assured. Whoever the mech is, he is certain that I won't attack him, somethin' almost unheard of. Least, 'till he steps out into the light.

Even the amount of dust and grime can't disguise the silvery-white plating or the once vibrant red marking his plating and I can't help the faint whuff of thin atmosphere that goes through my vents. No wonder he's so calm, nobody down here would hurt a medic. They're worth more than credits to most mechs.

"Not going to talk to me youngling?" He asks when the silence stretches.

"I ain't no youngling!" I protest, drawing myself up from my half crouch. "An' I can talk fine."

He steps closer and I tense, cables drawing tight in preparation to run, every sensor attuned to his next move. "Is that how you plan to live your life? Theiving what you need?"

I scoff, like I want to be doing that. "Not really got much choice 'bout that. Gotta fuel somehow."

He hums thoughtfully, visor running over my frame until I fidget under his gaze. "I'm looking for an apprentice."

My first thought is 'so what?' How does that have anythin' to do with, well, anythin'. Until I realise he wasn't just statin' a fact. Well, he was, but it was also a question.

"I might be interested." I reply, weighing my response carefully. I know how easy it would be for him to haul me in as a glorified assistant to do the plate breakin' work and not teach me anythin' of use.

He nods. "I thought you might be." A ping bounces off my commlink and I accept the information in the following datapacket. It's not encrypted, but I still partition it to run through a scanner before I open it. "Location of my clinic," he says with a knowing smile before my scanner finishes. "Offers won't stay open long." He turns around, heading back the way I came, towards the fainst sounds of fighting.

I think I've just made his night, a brawl like that will get him a lot of credits with the amount of injuries that'll be around. Maybe I'll even check out his clinic, not one I've been to before, but then, I try and stay out of fights. If I could become a medic I wouldn't have to worry about fuel and credits. It's a happy thought.


	4. Ratchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speed and Velocity.
> 
> Or: How an emergency response vehicle is trained.

"Okay, you've never done this before?" The no-nonsense mech asks as he reads over a pad.

I shake my helm as I stare over our current location.

"Not even recreationally?" He pushes and I shake my helm again, maybe I did when I was a youngling, but I joined the Academy as soon as I was transferred into my adult frame and I've never had time to try it.

"Right." The enforcer says as he marks something on the pad. "You read through the manual that was sent to you?"

"Yes." It takes effort to stop my plating from rattling and I'm not sure whether it is from excitement or apprehension.

"Very well." He says as he steps off the track and settles himself in the stands. "Patch into my commlink and you will follow any instructions I give you immediately. Beyond that, you may begin whenever you are ready."

Folding down into my alt mode I accelerate away from the stands following the track around at a respectable speed until I reached what would be the limit for normal civilian mechs. And this is where the real test begins, turning my lights and sirens on I slowly increase my speed.

I can feel my thrusters thrumming, the deep growl far harder than anything I've heard from them before and my sensors have become hyper aware, flashing data at me in an endless wave.

Traction ratings are no longer a constant, instead they are fluctuating as my anti-gravs try to keep a fine balance between too little and hitting the floor and too much and flipping over.

I am so unprepared for the high pitched alarm of a proximity alert that I wrench my entire front end around, barely missing the obstacle in the track and I end up rolling, the screech of metal as my roof scrapes across the floor of the track jarring me out of my alt mode.

::You're trying to get to an accident, not cause one.:: My instructors caustic comment echoes through my comm. as I run a quick self diagnostic. ::Do you really think all mechs are going to get out of your way just because you have pretty lights?::

Nothing damaged beyond dents I flip back into my alt mode ramping up my speed again, but this time I keep an extra sensor online for obstacles on the track. A good thing I did as there are more of them as I get further round the track, models built to resemble mechs of all sizes and frames, and debris left lying around, the entire track changing from an open air racing venue to a mimicry of a congested arterial route.

Then it changes again and I barely miss plowing into a wall as it takes on the form of a tightly packed industrial and residential area, the streets narrow and twisting and several times I feel my sides scrape against walls as I take corners a little too fast.

By the time I am back in front of the enforcer my engine is screaming at me and I am on my hands and knees, my spark racing with a strange mix of exhilaration and excitement and a dash of fear.

"A good start. But you clipped at least three other mechs and I'm afraid your patient extinguished before you arrived."

I? What? I don't have chance to ask him what he means as he motions with his datapad towards the track.

"Again. Apprentice. And this time put some speed into it."


	5. Ratchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet at the Academy II

Sometimes I wonder why I ever wanted to do this. Or more to the point, why I chose one of the more demanding disciplines to study and specialise in. All I seem to do is study. Pad after pad after pad until I have to recalibrate my optics.

When the head of the Academy did his welcoming speech and explained to us all that there was over a fifty percent drop out rate and of those who didn't drop out, most would go into the easier disciplines I didn't believe him. Slag, nobody believed him. That is an awfully high failure rate for a place that is considered to be one of the best institutions on Cybertron. Now I'm just confused as to why it isn't even higher. Just the amount of studying in the first years was enough for a lot of them to leave, unable or unwilling to devote most of their time to medical pads and lectures instead of the pursuits of campus that many of them enjoyed.

And then the rest, well, put it this way, of my class intake, I'm the only one still studying internal surgery. There's a mech still specialising in processor repair, but the rest have all switched out to become frame mechanics or general practitioners. Not that part of me blames them.

Not after the event that had caused near half my class to walk out, or change specialisations.

It had been right after we finished the lecture part of the course and we were a few cycles into the next part of our training. Shadowing a senior medic in their duties and learning how to apply all the techniques that we had only seen before on a pad.

Then _it_ happened. 

_The comm call had been on a wide band and I actually received it several times as I was logged into a few different frequencies._

_"Code Black." I had repeated even as my databanks gave me the answer. Medical code for a disaster that required every medic not currently in surgery to assemble for dispatch to the scene or to await incoming injured._

_My mentor had just nodded, a grim look on his face before his surgical mask slid into place and he waved me to follow. We'd reached the emergency entrance, waiting with the other medics as we waited for news. It had come in the form of an enforcer who slid into the main bay, the small first response mech, no doubt sent because he might be small but he's also fast, stood up, a grim look on his face._

_He had given his report in a detached manner, as if he was merely talking about the current sporting results, not an accident that had most likely extinguished mechs. When he finished one of the ward managers stepped forwards, assigning mechs to tasks faster than I could follow._

_Not that I was processing much right then, I had still been taking in the enforcers report, the words, 'energon shipment exploded' and 'took out several aerial highways' running around my processor. I'd stumbled after my mentor when I heard his designation and then mine to wait for the transport we had been assigned._

_I had thought I'd managed to calm myself by the time it arrived. I was wrong. This wasn't a preplanned surgery or a small accident. This was a: there was so much energon the transport was more pink than white and red and I could see the glimmer of spark energy, type accident._

_I can't remember much of what happened after that, not because I don't want to, but because by the end I was just too exhausted, my processor fragmenting the memory files before they could be properly filed. What I had were snatches of images and they were enough to rouse me from recharge for a long time._

_I almost handed in my notice. Almost. Except I had been raised to never fail at anything. Nor would give my creator the satisfaction of seeing me fail._

I sigh as I rotate my wrist, hearing metal sliding over metal in my frame, as my processor works on assimilating the new coding for the new circuitry I've just had installed.

Although this is a minor adjustment compared to everything else. You see, I had to have a ground up rebuild. Tower frames just aren't built to the same specifications as medics. I needed stronger hydraulics and armour, a secondary energon tank and filters, and a whole host of redundant systems that can be used as a last resort on a patient. Sometimes I think it would have been easier to just transfer me into a completely new frame.

Still, no matter how much I want to try and get rid of the itch in my coding by bringing my new scalpel out of subspace, I know better. If I survived a major frame overhaul then I can survive the discomfort of having the code for a new tool settling into place amongst the rest of my subroutines, without me introducing potential errors by activating it too soon.

I jump as my internal commlink activates and I almost slump in my seat as my mentors ID is recognised. Not that I don't want him to call, it's just I haven't been able to recharge well with all the new systems that I've been having added.

::Ratchet here:: I say as I grope for my energon cube, hoping what's left will give my systems a boost.

::I know you're still going though the mod adjustments, but I've just been handed another assignment and I have been... allowed an assistant.::

I frown as I put the pad to one side, something about how he said that making me rerun the comm. He's been _allowed_ an assistant. This perhaps, is the answer to questions I've had for a while. You see, he's never been the most... orthodox mentor. Well, no, that's not true, his mentoring has been brilliant. It's just some of the time I've called to ask a question regarding my studies and he's been mysteriously 'unavailable', or working on a project he'd 'prefer not to talk about'.

::Sure. Be a good break from my pads:: I finally say, sending an acknowledging ping when he tells me to meet him at the entrance.

I idle gently, engine thrumming and I can feel the extra power available as I hover over the worn tiles to one side of the emergency entrance. I wince as one of the small first response medics rolls up and transforms, his entire frame slumping against the wall as soon as he's back on two feet.

"Busy day?" I ask as I sidle closer.

His EM field flares, letting me feel his weariness. "Hauler lost it's coupling on the IA385TR and his load crashed through the lane barrier."

"Ah. Bad?"

"Not as bad as it could have been." He says as he reaches out to grab my rollbar and haul himself up. "If you're heading out, I'd avoid going that way, they've had to shut both sides of the skylane, they'll be cleaning up for a while." He gives my bumper a pat before heading inside.

I shake myself, armour panels flaring away from my frame as my alt mode rocks. At least I know being a medic will never be boring. I still shudder to think about how my life could have been right now if I hadn't made the decision to leave when I did.

::Ready?:: The comm ping makes me twist around, the side of my frame almost scraping the floor as I turn on the spot.

I send an acknowledgement as my mentor steps out and transforms, his engine revving as he glides along, giving me a chance to get in gear. If it wasn't for his status as an emergency response class, I think the enforcers would have pulled him over enough times to warrant putting a transformation lock on him. I'm just glad that we have our automated lights and comm so that our fellow road users know to get out of our way. And those that don't, well, my mentor just doesn't do slowing down and pinging them to move their afts like they should. No, he just goes round them. In whatever way he can. I can't count the amount of times I've ended up pulling off some stunt just to keep up with him.

This time at least we aren't in a hurry and it's a positively sedate drive as we wind through the traffic. Most of them still pull over to let us pass, a perk of our frames and paint jobs being so distinctive, but without our lights going it's not illegal for them not to get out of our way.

Nor are we apparently going very far. I almost miss the turning, the low slung racer behind me cursing over a broadband comm as he has to hit the breaks to avoid ramming into my aft as I swing round with very little warning to take the ramp into the enforcers headquarters. Then again, the fragger shouldn't have been sitting so close on my aft.

I can't help looking around as we enter through one of the private entrances, and I almost miss my mentor speaking to me as I peer down an unmarked corridor.

"Ratchet! Pay attention. You'll need to file everything you see here in a confidential file. You're to speak to nobody except myself about it."

I nod, turning my attention to creating and labeling a new encrypted partition to tag the memory files to. "All done."

He nods sharply at me before opening the door we had stopped in front of while he waited for me. I stay close to him as he heads for the berth pushed up against one wall and the two enforcers.

"Meister, Punch." The two mechs nod back, although neither of them seem particularly happy to see us.

::Meister is the head of the enforcers special operations division:: I give the large mech another glance, wondering how a military built tankformer could manage to be special operations, he doesn't exactly blend into a crowd. ::And Punch is, or will be, one of his operatives:: The smaller mech shifts on the berth, one foot scuffing at the floor and again, he doesn't exactly seem the type. Not that I'm an expert on secret missions and how they work.

::I'll be running a few tests and then Meister wants you to stay and talk once I'm done:: My mentor stops beside the berth and I can't help but notice Punch's cringe away from him before I catch the buzz of an encrypted comm transmission and he glances at Meister before straightening up.

::Just talk? About what?:: I reply, somewhat confused.

::He was created for the enforcer division and I would like him to have a little more interaction with a mech that is not en enforcer:: I jump slightly at the comm, I hadn't even realised that the enforcer commander had been listening in.

::I can do that:: I say as I watch my mentor connect several cables, the young enforcer trying not to pull away from the foreign intrusion into his processor. His hands clench around the edge of the berth and I have a feeling that he is resisting the urge to rip them all out. It seems to take a long time before my mentor disconnects and he and Meister head for the door.

::Stick to easy conversation topics, I don't need to deal with removing anything he's not ready for. That includes current politics:: Meister says, ::He knows what you're here for::

The door shuts with a thud, despite it being a standard sliding mechanism, leaving us staring at each other.

"Uh, do you want to sit down?" He finally asks hesitantly, almost like it's the first time he's had a visitor to make the offer to. Then again, it could be.

"Thank you." I pull the small desk chair nearer to the berth and settle down. The silence begins to stretch again as I have no idea what a 'safe' topic is and he appears to be out of his depth.

"How old are you?" I finally ask, Meister had said he was 'created for the enforcers', which means he was most likely preprogrammed to ensure that. They are something I've read about, but never really met. No Tower mech would ever preprogram an heir, and the medical discipline is apparently not compatible with mass preprogramming, something to do with emotional subroutines not meshing with the knowledge. Records that we had to look at regarding the process to make sure that we didn't try the project again say that the preprogrammed medics were brilliant surgeons, but they followed the data they had, there was never any intuitive responses and they had little to no compassion for their patients. It could be done in one off scenarios, but having to call the Prime in to specifically call one spark and make sure it integrates correctly is too costly.

"About a vorn."

I have to tell myself to stop staring in surprise at that. I had been expecting him to say several vorns, I mean, it takes none preprogrammed mechs about ten vorns just to upgrade to their final frames. "Have you always been here?"

"Where else would I be?" he asks with a confused expression before he brightens. "I went to the simulator room for the first time a cycle ago and the headquarters here had been put into it and we walked around all the other rooms. General Meister says that next time we'll be going outside."

"I bet you're looking forward to that?" I can't imagine never having been outside of a small room like this.

"I suppose," he says slowly, "I've never been out there before so I don't know if I'll like it."

"I'm sure you will." I reassure him as I dig through my subspace, pulling out a few of the gelled energon candies I always have on me. I doubt letting him try one will get me into trouble. The unsure glance as he gingerly takes the one I am offering makes my spark jump in sympathy.

He holds it up to his olfactory sensors and I notice he waits for me to eat one before daring to nibble at the corner. The result is... amusing. His optics blink off, his powerplant rumbling deep in his chassis and if he could become liquid he would be a puddle on the floor. He finishes the rest of the treat in the same manner and I pull the remainder of the box out to give to him. I wave away his stammered thanks as he clutches the box to his chassis before slipping it into his subspace.

"They never told me energon can be made like that." He finally says as he pulls his legs up onto the berth and crosses them. "Are there other types of energon, apart from the cubes."

I nod, sure that talking about sweet treats isn't going to annoy Meister, since I'd quite like to come back an see Punch again.


	6. Hoist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoist applies to the Academy

This is the most nerve racking thing I've ever done, and that's saying a lot as my creators both say that compared to the other younglings their friends have I never get upset or anxious. Or at least, not as much as the rest.

Although, I suppose I've never had anything quite as big as this to get worried over.

I saw the advert by chance as I went to pick up energon for myself and my creators. A big holoboard flashing it's message and I had to double back so I could pull over and double check my systems had caught the datastream correctly. The Senate has decided that we need more medics and they will be giving scholarships to five successful applicants.

I mentioned it when I got home and both my creators had told me to try. If I didn't try I'd never get it, and there was no way I could afford to apply to the Academy without the scholarship. Which is why I'm sitting in a waiting room with a large number of other mechs who all look as nervous as I feel.

I'd been starting to get worried that I had failed the examinations that had been the first round of tests, after all, I knew nothing about medical things yet. Turns out it was more general testing, no doubt to work out who would be able to keep up with the workload. Still, I hadn't heard anything and was almost at the point of applying for an apprenticeship with one of the itinerant medics that visit the lower levels. It wouldn't be anywhere near the same standard of teaching, but it would have been better than nothing. And then I'd gotten a comm. call to turn up for an interview.

I brush another hand over my paint, the wax and polish not entirely covering the scratches in my dark green armour. I wish I'd had more time to try and save up to get them filled in before I came here, but it was such short notice the best I could do was make sure I am clean.

"Hoist please." I glance up at the mech who's been calling out names, glad that I got here well in advance of my appointment. I stand, making my way around the room and the mech runs his optics's over me before looking back at his pad. Making sure that I am who I am meant to be I suppose. "This way if you would."

I follow him down the hallway, feeling my nerves rising again with every step until he gestures me into another room. There is a single chair facing a wide desk, three white and red mechs seated behind it and it takes every ounce of courage I have to step inside and make my way towards them. This may just be the most important interview of my functioning.


	7. Ratchet

"Y'know, you lot are going to get my license revoked one cycle." The voice from right beside us is amused despite trying to sound aggravated and it is followed by the whip of a mesh cloth on one of my thighs.

"Would we do that to you?" I ask as I work my hand out of Hoist's wiring so that he can sit up rather than sprawl inelegantly across my chest.

I hadn't realised we had gotten so... absorbed that neither of us had noticed the bar slowly emptying of its patrons and the lights being dimmed. It was strange to see the place so quiet, no mechs dancing, no sound of chattering and laughing and the low buzz of active commlines beneath the usually ever present music.

The barkeeper and owner chuckles. "Not on purpose," he shakes his helm as we finally stand up, our hands lingering along plating as we stretch. "Medics." Despite his exasperation at our antics he is still smiling. "Go on with you and stop cluttering up my bar." The cloth flashes out with precision accuracy across my aft and I cann't quite suppress the undignified squeak as he chases us out, his cheery, "see you next cycle," echoing behind us as we stagger back towards the Academy dorm rooms.


	8. Hoist

"That was a good party." I say as we wobble into an Academy room. Not mine. Or Ratchet's. I file that with a flag in my processor so that I might possibly remember it once the charge dies down and I can think straight again.

"Sure was." The engineering student that has helped us drink through a barrel of high grade is listing to one side, only the presence of the doorframe keeping him upright.

"Oww." Ratchet glares, or tries to at least, at an armchair. "Bad seat." I can only watch with bemusement as he clambers back to his feet and stumbles the extra few steps so that he won't end up on the floor again. "Stay."

"I haven't been this while for a drunk!" The engineer, Wheeljack according to my very fuzzy memory files, says as he wobbles across the room. "At least I think I'm drunk, because I'm seeing two of everything." Indeed, his optics appear to be focused to different wavelengths and he has already crashed into his own desk. At least I hope it is his desk, because if it isn't then some poor student is going to get a shock.

"You know what would make the night better?" Ratchet suddenly asks.

I shake my helm, before realising that was a potentially bad plan as the room tilts rather alarmingly and Wheeljack makes a noise that I think is meant to indicate that Ratchet continue.

"Interfacing."

Wheeljack blinks his optics, clearly large amounts of processing power was being used to run that through his logic subroutines. "Interfacing sounds good." He finally agrees before looking round the room. "We need to get the berth into here though."

Ratchet nods before frowning, even as my own logic centre threw up queries at me. "Can't we go to the berth?" I ask.

"Oh, yeah, that would work."

Ratchet swore at the chair again as it tipped him onto the floor before heading into the berthroom and I caught Wheeljack as he span around to follow and almost ended up on the floor. Thankfully he wasn't any bigger than me.

"Uhhhhm" Wheeljack just shrugs as we both join Ratchet in staring down at the multitude of datacables he has unspooled from various ports.

"That type. I think." I point at one and flip open one of my ports and inspect the connector. "Yeah, that one."

Wheeljack happily takes it up as I sort out another interfacing cable from the mess of leads that Ratchet has produced. Whoever thought it a good plan to give medics lots of cables to help diagnostics didn't ever think of the possibilities of mixing them up while 'facing.

At least Ratchet manages to find the right cables to pull out from me and then a small amount of prodding yeilds the answer on Wheeljack's frame.

The last cable snaps into place with a click and Wheeljack's mental voice echoed across the newly formed link as he pulls us all down into a pile of rapidly heating metal. **Party on**


	9. Ratchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet graduates

Wonderful. My turn to go make a fool of myself. What should I do, trip as I ascend the ramp, wobble over when I'm menat to kneel in front of the Prime, get the words to the oath mixed up? So many possibilities. And to top it off I'm the only one who finished my course so I'll have to go up on stage on my own.

Still, once this is over I'll be a free mech. I've already been offered a place here in Iacon, one of the Towers want a personal medic. The pay would be wonderful, but I don't want to go back there any time soon. I've put in an application to go off on an exploratory mission to the edges of the Empire. That should keep me busy for a while until Hoist graduates and we can try and set up our own surgery. There's not much else except Hoist and the crazy engineering student from the adjacent science Academy to keep me here. Punch has finally been deemed stable enough and has learnt enough to be sent out on whatever mission he's doing. I don't really have many other friends.

I am so caught up in my thoughts that one of my classmates has to poke me when I don't immediately respond to my designation being called.It is almost anticlimatic to finally stop in front of Sentinel Prime, first among the chosen of Primus and all that slag. He doesn't seem any different to the rest of the higher class mechs we get through the clinic from time to time. But far be it for me to disrespect the longstanding traditions as I manage to get to one knee without falling over and wait for him to ask his ritual question so that I can just get on with the slagging ceremony.

_I swear by Primus as my witness, that I will fulfill according to my ability and judgment this oath and this covenant:_

_I will respect the knowledge of those in whose steps I walk, and will gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow._

_I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's blade or the physicians coding. Whatever houses I may visit, I will come for the benefit of those in ill repair, remaining free of all intentional injustice and of all mischief._

_I will not attempt more than I am able, but will withdraw in favor of such mechs as are._

_I will prescribe treatment for the good of my patients according to my ability and my judgment and never do harm to anyone, even if this means to do nothing, rather than cause more harm at a later stage._

_I will neither give coding patches or stims to anybody if asked for them, nor will I make a suggestion to this effect. Nor will I help any pass to the Well if I am asked, nor will I advise such a plan; and similarly I will not give anything to cause a reabsorption of a new-spark._

_I will in the exercise of my profession keep all that may come to my knowledge which ought not to be spread abroad, secret and will never reveal. Nor will I give out any information tied to the profession, that which is used to bypass firewalls and coding blocks to any mech unless they be also learning the art._

_In purity and holiness and in the name of Primus, I will guard my life and my art. If I hold to this oath may a long life be granted to me; if I swear falsely or break my oath, may Primus have mercy on my spark._

I almost toss Sentinel's hand off my helm before I am able to return to my seat. I really could have done without all the pomp and ceremony. What would have been wrong in giving my oath in private, or at least, to the elder medics. I would have known I've given it, and if he actually exists, Primus would have known.

Instead I'm sitting here waiting for everybody else to finish up before I can get out of here. And this is I am not a general practitioner, social skills are not my forte, I'm much happier when my patient is in stasis and I don't have to deal with emotional coding and all the irrationality that it brings. I can also work at my own speed, no mechs telling me to stop this or stop that, or do it this way. As long as it gets the right result without breaking our covenant does it really matter which way I do things?

Well, it might have done while I've had a mentor watching my every move, but I am finally free to do it my way and I have to supress a whistle of celebration as Sentinel _finally_ wraps up his finishing speech.

Fully certified Circuit and Chassis Surgeon Ratchet is on the loose...


	10. Hoist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoist Graduates

This is more nerve wracking that I expected and I have to fight to keep my armour from clamping tight to my frame as I make my way to the front of the room, to bow before the very essence of Primus.

I hadn't realised just how tall the Lord Prime actually is until my knee guard hits the ground and I am looking at nothing more than his thighs as he steps forward, resting a hand upon my shoulder.

"Hoist. Do you swear by Primus to uphold thy oath, to keep they calm and to do thy best at any time?" His voice is a deep rumble as I reply automatically. My response burned into my very personality core and coded as deeply into my protocols as it can go.

_"I swear by Primus as my witness, that I will fulfill according to my ability and judgment this oath and this covenant:_

_I will respect the knowledge of those in whose steps I walk, and will gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow._

_I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's blade or the physicians coding. Whatever houses I may visit, I will come for the benefit of those in ill repair, remaining free of all intentional injustice and of all mischief._

_I will not attempt more than I am able, but will withdraw in favor of such mechs as are._

_I will prescribe treatment for the good of my patients according to my ability and my judgment and never do harm to anyone, even if this means to do nothing, rather than cause more harm at a later stage._

_I will neither give coding patches or stims to anybody if asked for them, nor will I make a suggestion to this effect. Nor will I help any pass to the Well if I am asked, nor will I advise such a plan; and similarly I will not give anything to cause a reabsorption of a new-spark unto the Well._

_I will in the exercise of my profession keep all that may come to my knowledge which ought not to be spread abroad, secret and will never reveal. Nor will I give out any information tied to the profession, that which is used to bypass firewalls and coding blocks to any mech unless they be also learning the art._

_In purity and holiness and in the name of Primus, I will guard my life and my art. If I hold to this oath may a long life be granted to me; if I swear falsely or break my oath, may Primus have mercy on my spark."_

The hand moves from my shoulder, resting for a brief moment on my helm before Sentinel steps back. "Rise Hoist, certified General Practitioner of the Iacon Acadamy of Medics."

I am shaking as I push myself to my feet and step back the required two steps before bowing to the Lord Prime, then to the ranks of the masters who have come to watch the promotion ceremony, before making my way back off the platform and to my seat.

I barely realise that the next mech has been called up as I stare at my hands. After so long it doesn't seem to be sinking in. I'm a medic. A real medic. Not an apprentice. A real, honest, spark bound, oath given medic.

Nothing has changed, at least, not outwardly. But I have given my word to Primus and I know that in my spark I have matured. I am a medic and I have a duty and a purpose now.


End file.
